Monthly Archives: April 2011

Boston with Love

Posted by Erin Poirier in Boston Marathon and tagged with , , , ,

This is my Boston Marathon race recap. I write this every year for myself because these are memories that I want to hold onto. I’m happy to share if you’re in for a long read.

To begin- to those of you lovely and supportive friends and family who were tracking my 3rd Boston race online, you saw me inching off my pace goal until I feel off by more than an inch at km 25. I was battling a demon. An evil demon in my mind. At km 25, I took stock of my situation. My time goal just simply wasn’t going to happen. I was feeling really bad mentally. I was bummed and my muscles were drenched in both lactic acid and disappointment. Then I looked directly at the crowd and saw something amazing. Something real, unlike the demon. The crowd loved me. They loved my name. They loved my Canada flag. They loved my pink shoes more than my name and my flag. They wanted to cheer for me. They wanted me to feel their love. They wanted me to run happily. They didn’t know that I was losing my time goal to a demon. I looked at the crowd and realized, “They think that I am awesome.” So I decided to let my goal go and run like the awesome fast lady that these amazing people thought that I was. I knew I could still set a personal best. So that’s what I did. I didn’t look at my watch again. I ran like I was awesome. And I had the best and most fun race I’ve ever run.

Now that you know that my story has a happy ending, I’ll take you back to the start.

We arrive in Boston on Saturday. Like a bride glows on her wedding day, the city has a marathon glow. I proudly wear my 2009 finisher’s jacket and soak up “good lucks” from strangers. I hug my beloved Boston friends. I sit and relax all afternoon Sunday in the warm sunshine at Fenway Park with Greg, Sue and MJ. The Sox win. My race feels like it’ll be a win too.

We eat pasta, honor pre-race traditions, and then I meet my running partner MJ at 6:20 and we get on the bus to Hopkinton. I want for MJ to hit a personal best as badly as I want my own personal best.

Our ride and our Athlete’s Village time is easy. We joke some. We talk running some. We are happy when we learn that there is coffee. We sit on the grass in the sun and wind and we curiously watch a guy next to us pull a jar of dill pickles out of his marathon bag.

Then it’s time to walk to the start. I am starting in the first of 3 waves, which I am psyched about. Of course MJ is in wave 1, he’s a fast guy. To me, this is a badge of honor. As we walk I look around and wonder “where the heck are all the ladies?” Wave 1 is predominantly men. After my fall half marathon PB, coach Cliff told me “now you run with the big girls” and I’m happy thinking about this being true.

The gun sounds at 10am and the 115th running of the Boston Marathon begins. My heart pounds. I remind myself to run smart. To run as tight on pace as I can. I knock off my 1st km 3 seconds fast and am bang on for km 2. I feel like I’m running at a warm-up pace, it’s so easy.

The first 5km slip by easily and I enjoy them. I’m on pace at the 5km timing mat and I’m happy. As I cross the mat, I intend to think of my loved ones at home. But my brain says to me, “5km. You have 7 more 5kms to run. That’s a lot.” I’m puzzled. Where the heck did that come from?

Now I run into Ashland, the first big town, where cheering for marathoners is a time-honored tradition passed down for generations. It’s incredible here. I’m wearing my name on my singlet. The sound of “Go ERIN!” with a Massachusetts accent is so sweet. It’s music to my feet. I am running easily. I am on pace.

Ashland ends and the course grows quiet between km 7 and 10. This is where runners can refocus. I’m repeating my splits in my head but the numbers leave my mind too quiet. “10km is far away” I hear myself think. What? No it’s not! It’s not far at all! Why would I think it’s far away? My splits are even at x:30 and x:00. I need to fill the silence around the splits. I alternate repeating “split #” and “easy.” I’m trying to focus.

I get to 10km. I cross the mat. My brain tells me that I have 3 more 10kms to run. “Oh my god, we haven’t even been running an hour” it says. No! No! I’m not supposed to be thinking that. I know I’m not. I know I’m not because my lovely Gina gave me a list of 4 funny and inspiring things to think about at the 10k markers and I’ve written them on the back of my paceband. They sure as heck didn’t read “you have almost 3 hours left to run.” I feel confused. I try to focus. Focus, focus, focus. Repeat splits. Easy!

I breathe an audible sigh of relief as I run into Framingham, the next town. The crowd is big and loud. They cheer for me. I imagine that I am putting their cheers into my pocket to save for when I need them later. But I’m worried about how much I need them now, so early in the race. “You should be worried” a voice in my head tells me. I survive 2 more kilometers. I’m on pace. My legs are fine. The engine is fine. But my race is not.

At kilometer 12 I want to stop. NO! I don’t want to stop! I love running. I love racing. No one wants to stop at km 12, it’s too early to be thinking bullsh*t like this. I realize that I am fighting a demon. An evil demon in my mind. I can’t understand how this could be happening. I pride myself on being a smart racer. A mentally tough racer. I’m trying to think about this but the demon is telling me that we should get into a car. And give up. Erin: “NO! I’m running. I’m running the g.d. Boston Marathon.” Demon: “No, we don’t like running.” Erin: “I am a runner. I am strong. I am prepared. I am not stopping.” Demon: “Fine, we’ll get in a car when we see Greg.”

This goes on for 2 kilometers. I can’t hear my split counting in my mind over the demon’s bullsh*t. “Go away, go away!” I beg the demon. I’m trying to be the boss. I need to silence it. I need to fill my head with something else. I have mantras prepared. I have mental images prepared. I tell myself that I am prepared. It doesn’t work. I tell myself that I trained hard. I put the image of MJ and me in a snow and wind storm on the SMU track. I hold it up like evidence. Look, you demon, I’m well trained, now f-off. It doesn’t work. I think about running toward my husband Greg and my dear friend Rich. It doesn’t work. I’m riffling wildly through my mental filing cabinets. I hold up an image of coach Cliff at the track. He believes in me. But the image isn’t strong enough.

I enter Natick, the 3rd big town on the course and I know that crowds here are big and happy. Please help me, I plead as I look at them. Something is wrong. I imagine putting their words under my feet like clouds. The word-clouds will help me run. I pull into the km 15 timing mat and I’m off by 13 seconds. I wanted those 13 seconds but the demon chewed them up and spit them out onto the ground.

Finally, an image that is strong enough takes hold. I am picturing myself in my role as high school coach. I’m standing on my spot at Beazley Track at the starting line, timing my runners in a track practice. I know that my runners love to run. They know that I love to run. This is good. I can focus. The kids are happy. I am happy. I can run happy now. I can see them running the backstretch of the track as I clock their 200 splits. I clock my Boston Marathon split and my pace is ok. I’m ok.

Being the coach of my high school track team gets me closer to Wellesley. I know that that the Wellesley girls’ Scream Tunnel is coming where college girls line the course for a full km. It’s one of my favorite parts of the course. Come on coach, let’s go. “We want to go on the subway” says the demon. NO! The coach runs!

The Scream Tunnel is the most glorious and loud place on earth. The girls are so loud that I can’t hear any of my thoughts. I can only hear their joy. I want joy too. I have tears in my eyes. I am a coach. I’m a coach who is now 33 seconds off goal pace at km 20. It’s ok though! The Wellesley girls have filled my tank! I’m running smoothly again. I’m counting splits. It can be easy again. Please let it be easy.

At the half-marathon marker, I am still 30 seconds off. But I haven’t lost any more seconds in the last 5km. My time goal has a cushion, up to 59 seconds. It’s ok. I’m back!

But I wasn’t back. I’d been running with the demon for more than 10 km. The demon had already dug a grave for my time goal and was busily shoveling dirt into the hole.

Kilometers 22 through 25 are really hard. And sad. Where is my love? Why is this so hard? I’ve raced so many times. I don’t give up. “We’re giving up today” says the demon happily. Love, come back, I beg. Be a coach. Be a coach. I help kids learn to love running. Love, are you there yet? Demon:“Don’t bother. We hate running.”

At the km 25 timing mat, I’m more than 60 seconds off my goal and I know that my goal just simply isn’t going to happen. “We can’t do this,” points out the demon.

This is when I truly look at the crowd. I see myself the way that they see me. They see a women running in a wave of mostly men. The crowd has no idea that I am losing my time goal. They think I am awesome. I am running with the big girls. I am running with the big girls at the Boston Marathon, the most prestigious and historical marathon in North America. Right here, I respond to the demon, “You’re right, we can’t do this like this.” I decide here and now that I will run the marathon like this crowd sees me. I know I can still set a personal best. I abandon my time goal and begin run like the awesome fast lady that these people see.

Now I smile out of joy, not out of panicked desperation. I smile hugely and the crowd cheers for me more. I put my watch and my paceband away and I throw the demon into the grave along with my time goal and I start having fun. Being a coach helped me through those earlier kilometers and I think about how I would be happy if one of my athletes refocused to have fun.

Photo taken around km 30 by Jim Rhoades

I run close to the barricaded crowds, smiling happily at them. They love it and chant “Erin! Erin! Erin!” They chant “Canada! Canada! Canada!” It’s so fun. It’s wildly fun. I love it. I love that people shout after my pink shoes. I love that I’ll still set a personal best. I love that I’ve let go of the pressure I’ve put on myself. I hear my pal Brian yell my name around mile 16 and I give him a delighted wave.

I see my coach Cliff as I enter Newton and he calls after me to “keep it steady.” I worry a little bit about Cliff worrying about me but I know that I can explain later. The words “Have fun! Have fun!” are singing themselves in my head. I am having so much fun. I’ve never had this much fun racing. It’s awesome and I am awesome.

The Newton Hills are coming and I’m going to let the crowd pull me up them. I stay close to the crowd on the left and I look those beautiful happy fans in the eyes and they lose their minds yelling for me. I love it. On hill 2, there is a huge tribal drum circle, more than 20 drums, and they make my next 20 steps so light and easy. Now I’m at Heartbreak Hill and nothing can break me with these Boston College kids on my side. I run next to them and listen to “ERIN! ERIN! ERIN!” and “CANADA! CANADA! CANADA!” from the base of the hill to the peak. I give them what they want, smiles and high-fives and happiness. Two 10 year old kids are pounding out a steady rhythm on a huge drum and my heart beats with it. Happy tears are in my eyes. I see Mich, a training partner from Cliff’s group, ringing 2 cowbells and I am so happy that I want to kiss her.

I run underneath Boston College’s sign reading “The Heart Ache is Over” and I salute it. I left my heartache at km 25. I know that Greg and Rich are coming soon and I know that I’m grinning wildly and I’m having fun. I fly down Beacon Street and give them high fives and then I set my focus on Sue, Vira and gang who will be next. Greg tells me later that he’s never seen me so happy in a race.

I run down the crazy big crowds of Beacon Street and “have fun” continues to sing in my head. I know that I am running with love. I’m running now because I love to.

Approaching my friends at 1 Mile to Go

Sue, Vira, Liz, Tom and Mike are cheering just past the “1 mile to go” sign. Sue and I see each other from about 50 metres away. She’s going crazy! She’s practically jumping over the barricade! Their gorgeous hands are stretched out for high-fives and I slap them all. I am ecstatic.

I run under the Mass Ave underpass. I have been smiling since km 25. I turn right onto Herreford. Left onto Boylston. The crowd overwhelms me. My legs, filled with disappointment 20 kilometers ago, are filled with elation. I don’t have much left to run hard but I run as hard as I can down Boylston to finish in 3:18:04. A personal best by 90 seconds. I place 510 out of 10 073 women.

I had the most fun race of my life.

I am proud that I gutted it out. You see, sometimes running a marathon is about more than hitting splits and winning your goal. It’s about pure love. It’s about running because it feels amazing. Because the community around you brings you joy. It’s about taking pleasure in the people in the crowds who are spending their holiday with you. It’s about enjoying the runners next to you who are battling it out too, giving it the same as you are. You run in solidarity with them. It’s about honoring your hard months of training by having fun. It’s about being grateful for your athletic gift to do something that many others can’t.

I may have lost my time goal but the demon didn’t win. My beaming smile and I did.

And I am now a 3:18 marathoner.

Reunited with husband after Boston Marathon

Reliving Boston Marathon 2010

Posted by Erin Poirier in Boston Marathon and tagged with , , , , , , ,

This week, in honour of Monday’s 115th Boston Marathon, I share with you my race recap from last year.  Today I am working at mentally rehearsing success and a big PB at Boston. A wise man once said that marathon running is 90% mental.  Rereading this helps my mental preparation.

114th Boston Marathon 2010

Erin Callaghan, Halifax, Nova Scotia

It’s only been a few days and my super happy race already feels like a blur so I am capturing the highlights that I want to hold onto.  I write this for myself but am happy to share if you are ready for a long read.

First it’s important to thank all of the people who made my strong and fit appearance at the start line possible.  Thanks to Greg for his patience with my training absences.  Thanks to Amanda for listening to me talk about every last mundane training detail that I wanted to obsess about.  My training group gets a huge shout out for providing fun, camaraderie and a sense of survival through months of Mon & Weds workouts; as well as occasional shared disbelief when reading ahead in our training schedule (hello, 5 x 5k intervals!? Or my favorite: “tonight’s workout is easy. 6k at race pace.  3 or 4 times.”)  Although he is too humble to acknowledge it, I feel that I owe much of my race fitness and many of the minutes that made up this personal best to my coach Matt Sheffield’s careful training plan and coaching- he’s the best.

So 15 weeks of training lands my support crew Greg, Andrew and Jenn and I in Boston at a happy reunion with my beloved Boston friends.  Although I don’t quite recognize the Erin who arrives in Boston because she is wound crazy tight and is nervous and orders about 3 restaurants meals that she doesn’t eat because of nerves.  Real Erin always eats all of her food and sometimes other people’s.  Nervous Erin doesn’t disappear until training partner Catherine calls her at 7pm on Sunday.  Ready and strong Erin hangs up the phone, thank God and thank Catherine the Great.

Saturday and Sunday are a whirlwind of Fenway Park; shopping; Greg, Andrew & Jenn partying with my American friends; and meeting super cool running dude Bart Yasso at the expo.  I note that the marathon really brings the best out in Bostonians as they unite with a common goal to encourage runners.  I wear my 2009 jacket and people who aren’t known for random acts of niceness begin to wish me “the very best of luck” at Starbucks, at Fenway, on the sidewalks, at the grocery store.

Then I am eating pasta with 7 of my favorite people and then it is 5am and I’m pulling on my race clothes and making my way to the Boston Commons for the organized chaos that will transport 22 000 runners to Hopkinton.  I try not to focus too much on the one-hour drive.  Until the driver says, “I’ll drive ya they-a, but ya gotta git yer own way back!”

I start in wave 1 this year, which I am psyched about because I really want to be standing at the start line when the fighter jets do their fly-over.  This moment doesn’t disappoint.  With a chill down my spine, the announcer chides that the jets will “reach the finish line in 4 minutes… do what you like with that info” and the guns fires and we are off.  Sort off.  In corral 13, we cross the start line 11 minutes later.  I have a very clear image of coach Matt’s last race pace workout where he opens up his book which reads “Erin-  4:43/k = 3:19” and says very simply, “you can do it.”  I never would have had the confidence or balls to gun for 3:19 myself but I’d decided 3 weeks ago to trust he is right.

My first 5km feel like a mix of very easy running pace and a ninja mission to shake off many hundreds of people who are running at 3:30:00 marathon pace.  I hit the first 5k mat slightly under pace in my ninja mission so I start to tell myself over and over to “relax, relax, and run on pace.”  I hit 10k only one second off my split and have settled into a part of the field where runners are running my pace.  Boston taught me a lot last year.  My goal is to run a smart first half and stick to my pace and not get carried away when it feels easy because easy always ends.  I approach the half point on pace feeling that this is very, very easy and being very, very careful not to blow my pacing.  Focus is easy; I am repeating my splits in my head.  I am pleased.

I enter the scream tunnel at Wellesley College around 20k where college girls line the course for a full km.  The girls’ runner love hits me hard.  I get kinda emotional and feel amazing and easy and am very happy.  If you can run through this section of the course without feeling moved then I don’t think that you are human.  I watch a man grab a kiss and then proclaim that the only year he didn’t get a smooch, he blew up on the hills so he must have a kiss.  Then 2 other runners dart over to willing girls lest they also blow up.  I laugh out loud.  The sun is shining warm on my face.  I hit the 21.1k mat super tight on pace.  Nice.

Now I start looking for my good pal Brian who says he will be in Newton.  I’m running with my head up (looking down = bad habit) and my form feels good and I am getting a TON of “Go Canada!” yells and I love it.  But I can’t find Brian, where the heck is he?  Then oh shit, this is Wellesley not Newton.  So I look for him in the next town: Brian, Brian, where are you?  Scanning the crowd, running strong, Jesus this isn’t Newton either, where the heck is Newton?  Another town, I’ll look for him here.  I’m grabbing as much water from sweet kids as from the amazing volunteers.  And orange slices.  I love orange slices more than life, how are they so impossibly delicious and wet.  Why don’t I eat them every day? I’m having a thought that “this is boring” but it goes away easily. Man, that was training partner McKim’s evil voice, not even mine!  I grab a yellow sponge from a professional spectator dude’s icy cooler and it is heaven on my hot face.  I look for Brian with a dripping face and he’s still not there but 9km have slipped by in my pursuit of him.  This was probably an even bigger help then actually seeing him.  I run by a line of about 20 elementary kids who are hilariously bouncing on individual trampolines, boing-boing-boing, I feel a renewed spring in my legs.

Crest of Heartbreak Hill

Then it’s almost 30k and the first Newton hill catches me by surprise as I thought that Newton might be lost forever.  Now I know where Newton is and understand I’ve missed Brian.  What I can’t understand is how and why Lt. Dan (my Garmin) is ringing for kilometer markers at least 100m before the timing mats.  I decide I must have started my watch late, this makes sense, I’ll match my splits to the timing mats.  Of course this is totally ridiculous, how would I have started my watch a full 100m (entire straightaway of a track) late?  Alas, the marathon-brain does not function logically.  Andrew has been telling me I will kick 2009-Erin’s ass (this joke gets elaborated so much that 2009-Erin end ups figuratively crying in the streets) so I promise not to high-five 250 kids a la 2009-Erin.  Now I am slightly off pace post Newton Hill 1.  I’ve already high-fived my quota of 3 kids.  Then a pure and good soldier in fatigues on the sidewalk gets in my face and yells “Go Canada, you got this girl, RUN” and I high-five him and I reclaim most of the seconds that slipped off up that hill.

Now I kick some hill ass and I fly down onto Beacon Street ready for the glory of seeing Greg, Andrew, Jenn and Shannon whom I’ve stationed at km 34.  OH the glory of seeing them is so sweet.  35k mat, done.  Now I follow Matt’s plan and start running as hard as I can.  I’m done with my paceband and my Garmin, I have a finish line to get to.  Which is good because the Garmin mystery has grown more puzzling as it’s now at least 400m off.  I pass Mike’s wife Lexi and I’m happy to see her and am happy thinking about Mike kicking some ass too.

I am now running hard down the mind-numbing sameness of Beacon Street, checking off each km.  People around me are walking.  A lot of them.  My evil voice finally makes it through my mental guard and whispers sexily, “Look at them walking.  They feel so good walking.  Don’t you want to walk too?”  I say “No! F-off and get lost evil voice” and it leaves.  I run to km 39. Sue and friends are coming soon.  Actually right at this point, unknown to me, my crazy friends are getting ticketing for drinking in public and are telling the police officer, “Listen cop, you do what you gotta do but we got a race to monitor here and a Canadian to high-five.”  I’m still pretty much on pace, only maybe 20 seconds off and my goal is within reach.  I’ve mentally rehearsed the last hard 3k. Now I tell myself over and over that Matt believes I can do it.  I high-five Sue and gang.  I turn the corner onto Herreford onto Boylston.  I salute pal Brenda who is yelling her lovely head off at me.  And I do it.  3:19:37.

I am teary and emotional at the finish line for the first time ever.  I walk stiffly to my bus for my stuff.  Another runner and I ignore a volunteer’s plea not to sit down and we sit down to take off our sneakers.  My water bottle starts to roll away and I tell it goodbye.  The blood returns to my brain and I understand that my Garmin was off because I was running all over the damn place on the course.  Sue & Liz come to get me to take me to my celebration party back where they were getting cited and Sue yells at several random Bostonians, “Move out of the way, I have a marathon runner here!!”  And then I have the most delicious celebration beer ever, not quite able to understand that I’ve become a 3:19 marathoner.  Greg notes, “I’ve noticed you’ve become much faster since you started dating me.”

On Being a Runner

Posted by Erin Poirier in running, Taper and tagged with , , , , , ,

Fine friends. This week I’m bringing you something a little different. Instead of my own blog musings, I present the 2 best things that I’ve read lately about being a runner. If you are wondering if this is a symptom of my Boston Marathon taper, yes, yes, it is.

Runner relaxing in athlete's village pre Boston Marathon

Athlete's Village, Boston Marathon

A taper (a period of reduced running mileage & intensity) is the very last, very important part of a distance running training cycle. The taper pretty much involves “doing less” but it deserves the same honor and respect as your weekly long runs and speed sessions. The long run trains your body for a goal race. Taper trains your body for a goal race. Taper provides rest, a reduction in mileage and a few fast workouts to stay sharp. With a taper, you let your hard-working body recover from your hard training. End result, a stronger body. But like many runners, my body wants to work hard!

Yesterday I ran 5km. That’s all. 5km. During my Tuesday and Thursday track workouts, my warm up and cool down total more than 5km. My mileage goal this week is 60% of peak mileage. In theory, I have lots of time this week (in reality, I am coaching 2 afternoons a week and had a board meeting last night that lasted longer than my 25k Moose Run). So what’s a running girl to do with all this time? Read about running, of course.

The first piece that I want to share with you is from a blog I stumbled upon called The Logic of Long Distance by 2 running dudes from Tennessee. Their post “How it Works” is superb. To me, it is beauty. It deserves to be shared. Author Jeff kindly agreed to let me share:

“How it Works” by Jeff Edmonds
March 11, 2011

This is how it works:

Training is doing your homework. It’s not exciting. More often than not it’s tedious. There is certainly no glory in it. But you stick with it, over time, and incrementally through no specific session, your body changes. Your mind becomes calloused to effort. You stop thinking of running as difficult or interesting or magical. It just becomes what you do. It becomes a habit.

Workouts too become like this. Intervals, tempos, strides, hills. You go to the track, to the bottom of a hill, and your body finds the effort. You do your homework. That’s training. Repetition–building deep habits, building a runner’s body and a runner’s mind. You do your homework, not obsessively, just regularly. Over time you grow to realize that the most important workout that you will do is the easy hour run. That’s the run that makes everything else possible. You live like a clock.

After weeks of this, you will have a month of it. After months of it, you will have a year of it.

Then, after you have done this for maybe three or four years, you will wake up one morning in a hotel room at about 4:30am and do the things you have always done. You eat some instant oatmeal. Drink some Gatorade. Put on your shorts, socks, shoes, your watch. This time, though, instead of heading out alone for a solitary hour, you will head towards a big crowd of people. A few of them will be like you: they will have a lean, hungry look around their eyes, wooden legs. You will nod in their direction. Most of the rest will be distracted, talking among their friends, smiling like they are at the mall, unaware of the great and magical event that is about to take place.

You’ll find your way to a tiny little space of solitude and wait anxiously, feeling the tang of adrenaline in your legs. You’ll stand there and take a deep breath, like it’s your last. An anthem will play. A gun will sound.

Then you will run.

Click here to visit Jeff’s “The Logic of Long Distance” blog.  It’s worth it.

The second piece that I will share with you is an excerpt from my favorite running book, “Once A Runner,” by John L. Parker, Jr. The story of Quenton Cassidy, a collegiate runner at a fictional university whose lifelong dream is to run a four-minute mile, is one of the most beloved sports novels ever written. I like to reread it during a taper. I’m forwarding you to page 123:

“Certain compliments and observations made him uneasy; he explained that he was just a runner; an athlete, really, with an absurdly difficult task. He was not a health nut, was not out to mold himself a stylishly slim body. He did not live on nuts and berries; if the furnace was hot enough, anything would burn, even Big Macs. He listened carefully to his body and heeded strange requests. Like a pregnant woman, he sometimes sought artichoke hearts, pickled beets, smoked oysters. His daily toil was arduous; satisfying on the whole, but not the bounding, joyous nature romp described in the magaznies. Others runners, real runners, understood it quite well.

Quenton Cassidy knew what the mystic-runners, the joggers, the runner-poets, the Zen runners, and others of their ilk were talking about.  But he also knew that their euphoric selves were generally nowhere to be seen on dark, rainy mornings.  They primarily wanted to talk about it, not do it. Cassidy very early on understood that a true runner ran even when he didn’t feel it, and raced when he was supposed to, without excuses and with nothing held back.

The true competitive runner, simmering in his own existential juices, endured his melancholia the only way he knew how: gently, together with those few others who also endured it, yet very much alone.  He ran because it grounded him in basics.

Running to him was real; the way he did it the realest thing he knew. It was all joy and woe, hard as diamond; it made him weary beyond comprehension. But it also made him free.”

Run on, fine friends.